


sing to me

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, lounge singer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7575148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Local bar seeking lounge singer. No experience necessary. Minors need not apply.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	sing to me

**Author's Note:**

> This was sitting unfinished in an old fic folder under the name ‘lounge singer au.’ I decided to dust it off and post what I had in the hopes that I would eventually finish it! Not entirely sure where I was going with this, but that’s half the fun, I guess :P Will flesh out the summary later; consider this one a place holder!

David clutched the slip of paper in his hand with nerveless fingers, gulping as he tried to work up a burst of courage that he just did not have.  
  
 _C'mon David_ , he told himself, converse shifting restlessly against the sidewalk, _Just open the door, go in there, and ask about the job._ He probably wouldn't even get it anyway, so what was he hesitating for? They'd take one look at him and point him toward the door, he was positive. They probably wouldn't even let him sing first.  
  
It was just... this was the first time he'd ever actually been inside of a bar, and it was a little… scary? Intimidating? It wasn't like this was the bad part of town, or like he was about to step into some den of sin or anything. He knew he was being dumb. There were just certain things he'd always been taught to be wary of, and bars were one of them. He could hear his father now, asking him what in the world he thought he was doing.  
  
But he _needed_ this job. Tuition was going up and his loans just weren't going to cut it anymore, so he had to do this. He couldn't depend on his parents forever, and he didn't want them to spend any more money on his education than they already had. They had his other siblings to look after, and David was old enough to be able to handle some of the financial weight on his own.  
  
And this? Well, this job was the perfect solution, almost too good to be true. He'd found the ad for it in the paper when he had been scouring for open positions, and he’d just kind of stared at it for a good, long moment before circling it in red ink and moving on. He hadn't really given it much thought afterward, using it as a kind of last resort just in case he couldn't find anything else, and, well.  
  
Nothing else had worked out. And okay, maybe some part of David had been happy about that.  
  
Because here? Here, he would get to _sing_.  
  
And okay, it wasn't like anyone was going to really be paying attention to him; he probably wouldn't even be able to sing what he wanted, but he would be able to sing, and that was enough for him.  
  
He stared at the crumpled newspaper clipping, rereading the words he’d circled in red: _Local bar seeking lounge singer. No experience necessary. Minors need not apply_.  
  
It was _crazy_ , and his parents were probably going to kill him once they found out about it, but the pay was good, and the hours wouldn't interfere with his classes, and he could _do_ this. He couldn’t let a little thing like nerves deter him. Besides, he knew if he didn't at least _try_ , he'd wind up regretting it for the rest of his life, so.  
  
He took a long, deep breath and pushed the door open.  
  
The warm scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke immediately washed over him. The bar was deserted, for the most part; he'd made sure to get there early in the day, not entirely comfortable with the notion of a packed room full of drunken people watching him sing, not just yet. It wasn't a huge place, but it was spacious, circular tables spread out in an arc around the small stage at the front, booths along the walls and the main bar off to the side. He gulped a little at the wide array of bottles displayed behind the counter.  
  
"You lost, kid?"  
  
David almost jumped out of his skin, not having noticed the man slumped against a table in the far corner. He was tossing a rag between his hands, a bored expression on his face.  
  
"Oh! Um, no, I just." David resolutely forced his hands to keep still (he tended to fidget when he was nervous) and cleared his throat. "I'm here about the job. In the paper. For the uh, the singer?"  
  
The man snorted. "Really?" he asked, incredulous, before kind of dissolving into laughter, and just, what was so funny? "You really want to be a lounge singer, kid?"  
  
Okay, so David was pretty sure this guy was making fun of him, and that just. David hated that. It wasn't like this was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life, but it was _there_ and it was perfect for him and it could actually _help_.  
  
The man must have noticed his agitation; he held up his hands, palms out, in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry, sorry," he said. "It's kind of surprising, is all I'm saying. How old are you, anyway?"  
  
And that just figured. David hated that he looked so much younger than he really was. "I'm twenty-"  
  
"Michael!"  
  
Both of them jumped this time; David watched as the man – Michael? – leapt up from his seat with wide, panicked eyes, snatching the rag and hurriedly swiping it across the table.  
  
"Oh no, don't think you're fooling me, Johns." A dark-haired woman was crossing the floor in long, angry strides. "This place looks just as filthy as it did an hour ago! Did you even clean _anything_?"  
  
"Yes!" Michael waved his hand at David before he bent back over the table, scrubbing at the surface with more force than David thought was strictly necessary. "Kid was asking about a job."  
  
"Oh?" Her eyes flew from Michael (who breathed an audible sigh of relief, David noted) to David himself. He froze, feeling his palms start to get all itchy and clammy and gross. _Great_.  
  
"Um."  
  
"How old are you, kid?" And gosh, David really wished they'd stop calling him that. It wasn’t helping his nerves any with everyone pointing out how young he was (or appeared to be, at any rate; David knew he looked about sixteen, which was just embarrassing).  
  
"Twenty-two."  
  
The woman studied him for a good, long moment, almost like she didn’t believe him. David tried not to fidget under her gaze, meeting her eyes and hoping he came across as a little less freaked out than he really was.  
  
"Well," she said, and at least now she was smiling. "Show us what you've got."  
  
"Show you...? Oh!" He gestured to the stage, feeling the first burst of excitement bubble up in his chest. "You want me to – ?"  
  
"Sing? That's right, kid. Everybody's got to try out."  
  
He nodded, knowing there was probably a huge, giddy smile on his face. This was the easy part.  
  
The stage floor felt like home beneath his feet, the mic fitting perfectly into the palm of his hand, as if it were made for him. Even the dim light of the bar felt welcome to him, up there on the stage. He could imagine standing there in front of a full crowd, spending his nights doing what he loved best and actually getting paid for it, losing himself in the music and the lyrics.  
  
The nerves were still there, but instead of letting them get to him David just closed his eyes, emptying his head of all thought, and opened his mouth to sing.


End file.
